Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web - Volume 1 by Thomas J. Prestopnik Page B
Authors: Thomas J. Prestopnik
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the pit of his stomach. Events of someone else’s design had changed everything and he was helpless to fight back. Or was he? Nicholas decided then and there that he couldn’t let them win. He wouldn’t let them win, whoever they were.
As Nicholas approached the front door of the cottage, he slowly reached for the handle while taking a deep breath. Suddenly, he dashed over the grass alongside Maynard’s farmhouse to the opposite end, running furiously into the field just beyond. He ran as fast as he could in the thick shadows, scrambling in one direction and then another, hoping to make his way north into the wooded area along the Pine River.
“Nicholas! You come back here!” the constable bellowed as he made a futile effort to chase after the young man. He flailed his arms, ordering the others to pursue at once. They shot past Constable Brindle like a pack of hungry wolves in search of fleeing prey, fanning out into the dark field with oil lamps and torches blazing among the dry crackling grass. Their earsplitting shouts shattered the peaceful night.
CHAPTER 3
The Awakening
A heavy fist hammered the tabletop, rattling three glass tumblers and an empty gin bottle. A trio of men, seated in a dark corner of the Iron Kettle Tavern that same evening, gawked at each other in stunned silence. A blaze crackled in the fireplace in an adjacent corner. The din of competing conversations from other patrons filled the smoky air.
“Something’s seriously wrong here,” one of the men whispered. “ Dead wrong.” He gravely observed his two companions, shifting his eyes left, then right, in a rigid line. “We’re out of gin!” he finally burst out laughing, his mouth crammed full of widely spaced teeth, one of which was missing on the bottom.
“That’s a good one, Gill! We can’t celebrate the Harvest Festival properly with an empty bottle in front of us. I’ll get another one.” George Bane tried to stand up, his puffy cheeks as red as apples and his eyes most surely to match in the morning. He plopped back down in his chair. “Give me a moment first.”
“You’re soused,” Gill Meddy said. “Nearly pickled, I’d say. Good thing you don’t have a wife ‘cause she’d lock you out of the house tonight for sure.”
“Yours will !” George said, dropping his head to the table in a fit of laughter.
“Stick your face in a feedbag and shut up about it!”
George Bane looked up, rubbing his unshaven face. “Then you get up off those spindly legs, Gill, and buy the next bottle if you’re so sober.”
“Didn’t I buy the last one?”
“I thought I did. Did I?”
The third member of the group calmly stood and indicated to George and Gill not to bother themselves. He grabbed the empty gin bottle and offered a thin smile. “It’ll be my pleasure to buy the next one,” he said, even though he had purchased the first one as well. “Sit back and relax until I return.”
“Much obliged,” Gill said, while George nodded with a glazed look in his eyes.
The third man walked to the tavern counter and paid for another bottle of gin. Mune stood chest-high to most of the men in the room. He had a slightly stocky build, topped with a head of short, thinning black hair and a well-trimmed goatee. His smiled displayed an abundant set of white teeth under piercing sea gray eyes.
When Mune returned to the table, he uncorked the gin bottle and refilled the three tumblers. George Bane and Gill Meddy, a couple of local farmhands, greedily drank from their glasses, pleased they had met this stranger passing through Kanesbury. It wasn’t unusual for outsiders to visit the village during the Harvest Festival, and the two men were more than happy to be the recipients of this particular outsider’s generosity.
Mune sat down and took a sip of his drink, leaning back in his chair to continue listening to the wild and fanciful yarns that George and Gill spun in their
As Nicholas approached the front door of the cottage, he slowly reached for the handle while taking a deep breath. Suddenly, he dashed over the grass alongside Maynard’s farmhouse to the opposite end, running furiously into the field just beyond. He ran as fast as he could in the thick shadows, scrambling in one direction and then another, hoping to make his way north into the wooded area along the Pine River.
“Nicholas! You come back here!” the constable bellowed as he made a futile effort to chase after the young man. He flailed his arms, ordering the others to pursue at once. They shot past Constable Brindle like a pack of hungry wolves in search of fleeing prey, fanning out into the dark field with oil lamps and torches blazing among the dry crackling grass. Their earsplitting shouts shattered the peaceful night.
CHAPTER 3
The Awakening
A heavy fist hammered the tabletop, rattling three glass tumblers and an empty gin bottle. A trio of men, seated in a dark corner of the Iron Kettle Tavern that same evening, gawked at each other in stunned silence. A blaze crackled in the fireplace in an adjacent corner. The din of competing conversations from other patrons filled the smoky air.
“Something’s seriously wrong here,” one of the men whispered. “ Dead wrong.” He gravely observed his two companions, shifting his eyes left, then right, in a rigid line. “We’re out of gin!” he finally burst out laughing, his mouth crammed full of widely spaced teeth, one of which was missing on the bottom.
“That’s a good one, Gill! We can’t celebrate the Harvest Festival properly with an empty bottle in front of us. I’ll get another one.” George Bane tried to stand up, his puffy cheeks as red as apples and his eyes most surely to match in the morning. He plopped back down in his chair. “Give me a moment first.”
“You’re soused,” Gill Meddy said. “Nearly pickled, I’d say. Good thing you don’t have a wife ‘cause she’d lock you out of the house tonight for sure.”
“Yours will !” George said, dropping his head to the table in a fit of laughter.
“Stick your face in a feedbag and shut up about it!”
George Bane looked up, rubbing his unshaven face. “Then you get up off those spindly legs, Gill, and buy the next bottle if you’re so sober.”
“Didn’t I buy the last one?”
“I thought I did. Did I?”
The third member of the group calmly stood and indicated to George and Gill not to bother themselves. He grabbed the empty gin bottle and offered a thin smile. “It’ll be my pleasure to buy the next one,” he said, even though he had purchased the first one as well. “Sit back and relax until I return.”
“Much obliged,” Gill said, while George nodded with a glazed look in his eyes.
The third man walked to the tavern counter and paid for another bottle of gin. Mune stood chest-high to most of the men in the room. He had a slightly stocky build, topped with a head of short, thinning black hair and a well-trimmed goatee. His smiled displayed an abundant set of white teeth under piercing sea gray eyes.
When Mune returned to the table, he uncorked the gin bottle and refilled the three tumblers. George Bane and Gill Meddy, a couple of local farmhands, greedily drank from their glasses, pleased they had met this stranger passing through Kanesbury. It wasn’t unusual for outsiders to visit the village during the Harvest Festival, and the two men were more than happy to be the recipients of this particular outsider’s generosity.
Mune sat down and took a sip of his drink, leaning back in his chair to continue listening to the wild and fanciful yarns that George and Gill spun in their
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